Smiling Faces
by kia-johns32
Summary: Ashley is in high school and is falling for an older Spencer.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

We were the queens of stolen glances, Spencer and I. For three years we rode the same bus on weekday mornings, the S2 down Sixteenth Street. Spencer rode twelve stops and got off on P Street. I rode three stops beyond that.

I can still remember the first day she got onto the bus. She stood at the bus stop in black slacks visible beneath a gray trench coat. The temperature was somewhere around twenty or so degrees, cold enough for her to wear a hat, or scarf, or even ear muffs, but I was glad that she hadn't. I was glad that her golden hair was down, and curly, and flowing about her face. The sunlight bounced off of each curl and seems to warm the air surrounding it, surrounding her. She wore these gray-tinted aviators that covered much of her face. She could have been a movie star really.

She stepped onto the bus as if she were weightless, one black boot before the other, and signaled to the bus driver with just a wave of her hand that she would pay him in a moment. She dropped into the seat across from me and began rummaging in the green messenger bag over her shoulder. She pulled out a leather wallet and produced a dollar bill. When she stood again and approached the driver, he simply smiled into the mirror and waved her away. I didn't blame him. I wouldn't have bothered making her pay either. She smiled at this and then returned to her bag, shoving the dollar bill into her coat pocket.

It was then, that I realized I was staring. My mouth was hanging open and I was gaping at her, eating up every inch of her tiny frame. Well, she wasn't tiny really; she was a bit taller than me give or take a few heel inches, a goddess if I've ever seen one. Anyway, upon this realization I turned away, peering out of the front window. The bus roared on down sixteenth. I prayed that she hadn't seen me staring, that those aviators hadn't hidden the glare that she gave this creepy teenager staring at her, me.

No such luck.

When I finally found the energy to turn away form the window, she was gazing silently back at me, aviators in her lap, and a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I considered smiling back, wanted to even, but I was too busy lost in her eyes. They were, big and wide and blue and seemed full of hope and happiness and excitement. I didn't understand how that was possible, for a person's eyes to look as if they held the world inside of them. But hers did. And she was looking at me.

I must have blushed because after a moment she tore her eyes away stifling a laugh. I didn't like where this was going. I pictured her stepping off of the bus once downtown, and going up to all of her witty, sexy friends and ragging on me, the creepy little high-schooler that checked her out on the bus. So I buried my head in my chest, eying the logo of my t-shirt and then cursing myself. It read "Seasons of Love". How lame. I kept my head down until she exited the bus.

That was midway through my sophomore year. By the end of that year I was already in love with her, already in love with her walk, and the way she tilts her head to the side when she doesn't understand something, how her smile can light up a thunderstorm, and how when she moves, time seems to stop whatever it's doing to pay attention.

But before I get into to that I should tell you about me. My name is Ashley Davies. I live in Washington DC, born and raised. My father is a failed musician turned stockbroker, my mother is an actress. She's a fierce woman really, so scary in person that she just belongs on stage. Kind of like Glen Close. I think she wants to be Glen Close. And she wants me to be some warped brunette version of Gwyneth Paltrow. So she sent me to arts school.

She sent me to Duke Ellington School of the Arts, this run down, shab of a school, known for cranking out the nation's best in premiere talent. I auditioned for theatre and received my admission within three days. Within two months I was at the top of my class and had a supporting role in the school's production of The Laramie Project. It was great. So I guess you could say that it all got even greater when Spencer came along.

Well, that is if you call it coming along.

After that first day of humiliation, I boarded the bus praying that she wasn't on it. And she wasn't...for about three stops. Then I saw her, running after the bus. Though I feel bad about it now, I prayed that she would trip on a slab of ice or suddenly have an asthma attack. Anything! I didn't want to run into her.

When she clambered onto the bus she had a monthly pass this time, and I gulped. She was going to be a frequent rider. She flashed it to the driver and then walked with her head down to the same seat as before. She seemed absorbed in her thoughts, her brow furrowed. She took the same seat as before, across from me, but kept her gaze on the floor.

She wore jeans today, with brown cowgirl boots and a green turtleneck sweater, the same gray trench coat, which I realized now, was lined with fur and was probably very expensive. I was almost sure that my mother owned it.

I tried not to stare, but it was too hard. Besides, while her head was down this was my only chance to really see her. I took in her flat stomach, the curve of her hips, and the shine of her pink lip-gloss. She was gorgeous. Just then the bus gave a lurch and her messenger bag fell from her lap. A few of its small contents poured from the opening and around my feet. Just my luck. I gasped and then bent down to retrieve the small items, MAC mascara, eye shadow, and gloss, plus cherry-apple Lip Smackers. I snickered to myself. I grabbed the bag too and I when I looked up she was right in front of me, staring.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly, and I was sure that she didn't remember me. I smiled in response, handing the bag over, and almost as if my smile were infectious one spread across her face. And though she tried to hide it, a mild blush spread across her cheeks. My smile widened, returning to my seat, gaze still glued to those gorgeous blue eyes. We just stayed that way for what seemed like a million millenniums until a cell phone went off. It took a moment for us to realize that it was her own. Britney Spears chanted the words "Gimme More" again and again and I chuckled to myself. A Britney fan. She answered it.

"Spencer here?" she said with an almost geeky cheeriness and I finally allowed my gaze to fall. I couldn't let her know that I was that smitten with her. Besides, what would she want with a sophomore like me anyway? She chatted on for a few moments, replied with various monosyllabic answers: "No, Sure, Maybe, Okay, Sounds Good." And then after a minute or two, she finished "love you too baby." I snapped my gaze up at this, and immediately regretted it. I was like a wounded puppy. But to my delight, she was clasping the phone shut and looking back up at me. Except she only held my gaze for a moment and smiled a sweet, slow smile, then began toying around in her messenger bag. I grinned from ear to ear and hugged my arms about myself.

That was three years ago. Her name was Spencer and she smiled at me.


	2. Chapter 2

After a few weeks, Spencer and I had developed a silent routine. I'd wait with bright eyes, my stomach twirling and flipping with excitement. When she got on the bus she would always wave at the driver first. His name was Pete. "Morning Pete," she'd say with a smirk and he always just nodded. Then she'd flash her pass and glance my way. And I was always staring right back, smiling right back. Just that one glance sent me flying in the clouds. I often had to grip the edge of my seat with my hands just to stay grounded, on the bus with her.

She always sat across form me and pretended to do something. At first she pretended to read a book. She would hold it out in front of her face and then peer over the top of it at me. She didn't smile then. Neither did I. We just stared silently, getting to know the tints and shades of each others eyes and faces. Then after a few weeks of that her arms began to tire, so she pretended to feel the need to look in her mirror seventy times each bus ride, checking her non-existent makeup. She didn't need makeup. That only held up until one ride when an old lady sitting beside her frowned and nudged her with her shoulder. "No man's worth the trouble," the old woman muttered and Spencer dropped the mirror immediately, trying her best to hide her blush. I smiled to myself. The old woman patted Spencer's knee and then returned to whatever she had been doing before. Spencer gave me an amused glance and I squeezed the edge of my seat even harder, knuckles going white.

Liza was the first person that I told about Spencer. Liza is my best friend. We slept together once at a party. We never talk about it though. We like it better that way. I told her about Spencer about three months in.

"Sounds creepy to me," Liza replied to this, and I could barely hide my frown. We sat in the balcony of the theatre. We always ate lunch up there, though it was breaking about five school rules. We thought we were rebels. "I mean, how old is she, and why is she wasting her time flirting with some high schooler?"

My jaw dropped at this. Liza immediately noticed and leaned forward putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I mean, no offense to you, Ashums. You're great. It's just, don't you wonder what kind of person does something like that?"

"No!" I snapped with a frown and Liza retracted her hands, instead throwing them up in surrender.

"My bad son," she said with wide eyes and I laughed immediately. Liza was mixed, her dad was black and her mom was white, but Liza was mostly white and proper. I always laughed at her when she feigned "hoodness". It was mostly to fit in, but she knew that she never had to do that with me. I didn't care who her parents were.

"No offense taken," I whispered between laughs. Liza took the momentary reprieve with a sigh and handed me a string cheese packet from her lunch bag. I ripped it open in one swipe and handed it back to her

"What would I do without you Ashums?" she asked sarcastically.

"Die of string cheese withdrawal." I replied and she chuckled. She rested her head on my shoulder. I ran my fingers through her thick dark hair like I always did.

"Maybe you should try talking to her," she said softly and I jumped. She laughed. "What are you afraid?"

"No," I said shakily and Liza sighed.

"You so are..."

Liza was right. I was afraid. What if once I opened my mouth and said something, the magic was gone? What if Spencer didn't really want to know me? She just wanted to know that I was the girl from the bus and leave it at that. What if this was all just a game to her? She didn't even know my name.

It wasn't until about midway through my junior year that I got up the balls to try a new tactic. Spencer hadn't provoked me or anything. It was just that one morning I stepped onto the bus, greeted Pete, and sat in a different seat, the one right next to Spencers. Pete gasped from his seat.

"Well somebody's feeling bold," he said in his grumbly voice and I stuck my tongue out at him through the mirror. I had known Pete for years, seeing as I'd been taking the same bus route since the sixth grade. Pete knew that I was gay, and that was only by coincidence. One morning this girl who had been stalking me clambered onto the bus and threatened to kill me if I didn't love her back. She was crazy, a real nut job, and when I didn't answer she grabbed me around the collar of my jacket and started shaking me. Before I could even react, Pete had her in his strong arms, and kicked her off the bus. He closed the doors and started the bus up again before looking at me through his mirror.

"That'll show you to stay away from red heads" he said with a smile, and ever since then, we were buddies.

Anyway the morning that I changed my seat he knew exactly why and i silently hated him for it. He was so perceptive sometimes. When we got to Spencer's stop he opened the doors with a huge grin and a look in my direction. "Morning Spence," he said cheerily and she replied with her usual greeting, only her voice was low and sad. I eyed her suspiciously and saw that she wore baggy blue jeans and a tattered old American Eagle shirt underneath her grey coat. Her eyes were stained pink and she had bags beneath them. Pete had obviously noticed this too, because he gave me a cautious glance in the mirror. I sat upright and tried to appear as normal as possible. Spencer glanced to my empty seat and something in her cracked. I saw it, the sadness there, and immediately wanted to stand an engulf her in a hug, but that was breaking a million and one rules. So I just stayed put. She walked by me and sat without even realizing that I was there beside her. She busied herself twiddling her thumbs.

Meanwhile my insides were screaming. I was sitting right next to her! I could feel the heat radiating off her body and I could smell her. She smelled like strawberry Lip Smackers and something else that I couldn't really place, something very Spencer-like. I took it all in, trying my best not to move too much, to get her attention. I didn't want to freak her out.

"You okay there, doll?" Pete said from his seat, and Spencer replied "Yes," not looking up from her fingers, but I knew that she was lying. Tears were starting in her eyes and she was rubbing her fingers together mercilessly, as if trying to work the skin off. I knew that this couldn't have been about me, but I also knew that my absence today wasn't helping. I had to let her know that I was sitting right beside her, that I was here to protect her. So with as much caution as I could muster, I snaked my hand out of my pocket and reached over and covered both of hers. She jumped at this, looking up with confusion in her eyes, but upon seeing me her eyes softened. She was happy for a moment, but then begin to eye the rest of the passengers nervously. I retracted my hand and turned my gaze back toward the front of the bus. Pete was glancing up whenever he had the chance.

My skin was burning where I had touched her, a slow fire that begin in my fingertips and ended between my legs. From just that touch I felt myself tensing. But this wasn't the time. This was about Spencer. But I didn't know what to do next. I couldn't look over at her. So I looked up at Pete in the mirror. He was smiling and nodded at me reassuringly. So I breathed in. I placed my hand atop hers again, not yet looking at her. Just resting it there, basking in the feeling, hoping that I was helping.

When I turned my head forward again, I saw that she was smiling, a small one, almost unnoticeable to most, but I could see it. I knew her. I tightened my grip and then pulled away again, but slowly this time. I wanted her to know that I was there.

We didn't look at each other again that ride, and when she got off of the bus she didn't look back at me, but I wasn't sad. I knew that she knew that I was watching. I knew that she could feel me.

At lunch that day I told Liza and she just stared at me, a blank expression on her face. I wasn't surprised by this. It had been over a year since I met Spencer and Liza was bored with my ramblings after only a few months. I waited for her to say something, anything but she didn't. So I lifted the arm rest between our two seats and stretched myself across the two seats, my head resting on her lap. I stared up at her and she stared right back, poking at my cheek absentmindedly. Liza did things like that from time to time.

"I just don't want you to get your hopes up Ashums," she whispered and I smiled in response. I reached up and poked her cheek.

"I know..." And I did know. I knew that it was already too late. My hopes were so high that I could barely see, or think, or feel, or even breath for that matter. I could only think of her.


End file.
